Minstrel's Serenade (12 page)

The hair on Bron’s neck bristled. He stared him down. A bodyguard couldn’t challenge a member of royalty. He shouldn’t have questioned the minstrel in the first place, but Danika’s safety reigned above all else.

Danika pushed herself between them. She cast Bron a pleading look, melting his heart. “I need your strength renewed for the journey tomorrow. Tired muscles cannot carry four bags of rice.”

The princess soothed his raging emotions. Bron reined in his swelling pride and bowed. “Of course.” He’d allow the princess to have the final say, but that didn’t mean he’d sleep without one eye open. “I’ll leave you to set up camp.”

“Very well.” Danika turned to Valorian like a wife appeasing her jilted husband. “Show me this entrance before the darkness engulfs us all.”

Bron gritted his teeth and marched back toward the carriage and the place where he belonged.

Midnight Serenade

Danika wrapped herself in furs and stared at the stars piercing through the thin satiny fabric of her makeshift tent. Bron had caught her off guard when he told her he’d agreed to take the boy in. Considering Nip’s lanky frame, stubborn reticence and humble origins, it would be a daunting task to train him for the Royal Guard. However, Bron didn’t flinch, accepting his new responsibility with pride. That kind of selflessness delved deep into her heart, deeper than she wanted it to go.

If it weren’t for Valorian, she would have kissed Bron. She was sure of it. Even now her mind wandered, wondering what those thick lips tasted like…how it would have felt to wrap her fingers around his strong arms and pull him down to meet her.

Danika slapped her face and forced herself to listen to Valorian’s pleasant song. The clear timbre of his high tenor voice soothed her. He’d spoken before of the power of his music and how the minstrels’ song only brought out a person’s underlying emotions. Still, whenever she opened her heart to the melody, she felt drawn into a spell.

“The full moon doth cast a steady glow

Illuminating truths high and low.

Oh, when will thou heart be true?

For all I can sing of is you.”

Blinking, Danika jolted up, her unruly hair skimming the top of the tent. Was this an old ballad or did he sing of her?

Silly girl. Valorian would not reveal his heart so openly. Ever since she was a child, her mother had warned her of thinking the moon, the sun and the stars revolved around her. She belonged to a great universe. Her existence was a small thread weaving into the tapestry of life. How arrogant to think the lyrics Valorian sang pertained to her alone.

What if he sang of another?

Did jealousy tease her heart? Or simple curiosity? Besides his title as Prince of the House of Song, Valorian’s handsomeness rivaled any man in Ebonvale’s court. Many women must have sought his charms. What made her so certain she was the prize he wanted? What if he yearned for a lady in the minstrel village whom he wanted but couldn’t have because of his station? No, she knew the pangs of hindered love, and she’d never seen those emotions cross his face.

“Tempests churn and rains fall

In this world we see it all.

But a love so pure and true

Can I cultivate it with you?”

Enough! She pulled the furs over her head and his words blurred together. She couldn’t fathom how such a melancholy song fended off enemies. Unless the sickly sweetness bled their ears. For once she wished she’d taken Bron’s advice. At least his sharp eyes remained closed, allowing her to sleep.

Her mind was like an old bucket, springing another leak of worries before the last was patched. Once she’d blocked Valorian’s words from her head, her mind wandered to thoughts of her mother. Part of her wished she’d taken the time to forgive her before they’d left. Now the memory of the former queen standing on that crooked, splintered porch waving them off stuck in her mind without resolution.

Would she ever see her mother again? Could she live with her choice to leave her without forgiveness if their destinies grew apart?

She’d overheard Bron asking her mother to come with them. Danika had known the former queen’s answer before it leaked from her old, cracked lips. It was useless to try to save her. She refused outside aid.

Thinking of how she’d battled against Valorian coming with them, Danika realized the cherry blossom didn’t fall far from the tree. She’d always pictured herself her father’s daughter, but she had a streak of the former queen inside her as well.

Valorian’s voice tapered off, and his song changed from words to gentle finger plucks of his lute. Danika turned on her back and closed her eyes. Sleep came like a reluctant visitor, and she lost her worries to the realm of dreams.

The flagstone froze her bare feet as Danika tiptoed through the castle in her nightgown. She wished she’d brought the fur from her bed or slipped on her riding cloak. As a young girl, she got away with scampering around in close to nothing, but her body had changed, and she needed to cover her new curves.

Should she return to her room? The urgency in the whispers below her window and the sound of velvet-clad hooves scuffing in the courtyard told her to make haste, or she’d miss the secrets of the night. The older she’d become, the more she yearned to know of Ebonvale and all its mysteries.

Candlewax dripped across her gown as she scurried down the marble steps. A sweet song wafted on the breeze. The ending cadence comforted her and she fell back against the wall. Her eyes grew heavy and her breathing slow. Slumping to her feet, she gave into the song’s lulling turns.

What could be more satisfying than sleep?

Thoughts of the servants finding her in a bare nightgown, snoring on the steps, jolted her awake. She pinched herself to keep alert and hurried down to the landing. Worried about the guards, she peeked around the corner to the antechamber. Both men sat slumped over, fast asleep. They’d given in to the music’s charm. Fate danced on her side.

She tiptoed by them and slipped through a crack in the door.

A full moon’s glow lit the courtyard in otherworldly iridescence. ’Round the fountain, two figures in hoods packed travel bags on two of Ebonvale’s royal stallions, bred to carry the heftiest warriors into battle.

Her father had returned home only yesterday from a triumph in the Northern Pass. Did he leave again so soon without bidding farewell? She crawled toward the fountain on her belly, her neck bristling with anger. He’d done it before. But, to use the court minstrel’s sweet song to steal away into the night? That was downright conniving.

The figures came into view and confusion struck her like a knife in her gut. Neither figure was her father. One had his height but not his width. The other had womanly curves.

The taller figure tied a lute to his back. She recognized the delicate paint on the wood. Crescenti. Why had he used his music against the guards? Was he a spy, a thief in disguise, waiting for the right time to make his move? Fear crossed her heart as she realized she’d come alone. She considered running back to wake the guards, but curiosity tempted her forward.

The minstrel pulled the other hooded figure close, wrapping lithe arms around her. A lock of her blond hair flew in the breeze. The taller figure bent down and pressed his face to hers.

Danika rose up from her belly and peered around the mermaid tail spewing water in a steady stream. Was she one of her mother’s handmaidens? If so, why meet in secret? Why hide your love?

The taller man spoke. “Come, we must make haste. ’Tis time.”

The woman pulled away, wiping her cheeks as if she were crying. She whispered, “I cannot.”

The man took her hand in his, pulling her toward the horse. “You must, dearest. If we are ever to be together, if you are ever to find happiness, then you must come with me this night.”

Danika pressed her body against the stone fountain to steal a better look, but the figure stood in the moon’s shadow.

The woman gazed at the tower above them. “She’ll never forgive me.”

The minstrel helped her onto a horse. “Did you leave the letter?”

“Yes.”

“’Tis all you can do. You’ve waited as long as responsibility dictates. You’ve done well raising her. She’s almost of age to make her own choices. You must make yours.”

The woman signed Helena’s sword in the air. “Gods forgive me.”

The wind picked up, blowing blond wisps from Danika’s braid. The scent of cherrywood blossoms carried on the air.

Danika paused, remembering so many memories of that voice reading to her of Helena’s conquests, of that scent mingling with the queen’s long robes after she’d gone walking in the orchards.

“Mama?” she murmured. Her heart raced so fast, it might burst out of her chest. They’d argued over her dress fittings the night before, and she hadn’t seen her mother since. Surely, her insolence hadn’t driven her mother away?

A scraping sound echoed behind her. She whirled around, braid flying. She’d broken the spell of the music by speaking.

The guard wiped his eyes and stood, his sword scraping against the stone wall, and pointed the tip toward the figures. “Who goes there?”

“Hi-ya!” The minstrel yelled, spurring both horses into flight. A cloud of dust covered the courtyard.

“Mama!” Danika raced after her. She ran until the skin on her feet burned. Her gait fell short of the battle horse’s long stride. Collapsing on the empty road, Danika hit the ground with her fists, cursing like a warrior.

A regiment of guards ran by her, along with the king. She stumbled to her feet and followed him to the end of the path, where the shadows of night swallowed her mother’s horse.

“Sybil!” Her father shouted into the darkness. “In all Helena’s Grace, why?”

Empty night pressed in. The melancholy call of skylarks answered his pleas.

“Do you want me to go after them, Your Highness?” The head guard stood in a battle stance, his long sword raised.

“No.” Her father’s voice cracked. “Let them go.” He collapsed beside Danika and held her close.

“I’m sorry, my dear princess. I have failed your mother and, in turn, I have failed you.”

His tears fell on Danika as she buried her head in his red velvet robe. She hated her mother for leaving but, at the same time, she feared she might never see her again. All of their arguments seemed petty now. She should have worn her mother’s dainty gowns instead of throwing them on the floor in favor of riding leathers.

Bron’s voice was the only sound cutting through Danika’s grief. He stood above them, crossing his arms below his chest in a solemn pose, like a mourner at a funeral. “I searched her room and found this, Your Highness.”

He handed the king a folded sheet of parchment, stamped with the royal crest of Ebonvale, Helena’s and Horred’s Swords crossed together.

The king sighed and released her. He held out his hand. “At least I’ll get some answers.”

“It’s not addressed to you, Your Highness.” Bron’s voice broke in hesitation as if he’d cried as well. Anger raced through her heart. How could a servant love her mother as much as she?

Bron blinked his red-rimmed eyes and gazed down at her with envy. “’Tis for Danika.”

Descending through Darkness

Bron awoke with Valorian’s cloying songs ringing in his ears. He shook his head, ridding his mind of the flowery words.

As much as he cursed his longwinded ballads, they allowed him to rest and protected the campsite from harm. If anything with a brain was mad enough to venture this far into the dark mountains in the first place.

He sat up and scanned the camp. Mist rolled off the backs of the Darkenbite range, settling over the placid lake and concealing the entrance to the caverns below. Nip and Danika slept peacefully, and Valorian perched on a rock, plucking his lute in minimalist notes. The minstrel’s head turned toward him. He acknowledged the warrior with weary eyes. “Good morrow, brute.” Although the taunt danced in his words, a hint of a smile played across his lips.

“Good morrow, yourself.” Bron stood, stretching his legs. The ground stiffened his back, making swordplay laborious. If Darkenbite lived up to its reputation, he’d need agility and strength for this day’s quest. He unsheathed his claymore, swinging the blade, as silver as the lake behind him. The tip crested in an arc above his head, reflecting dawn’s early light.

Valorian struck a sweet chord with one dissonant note. “From slumber to swordplay. Looks as though someone is trying to impress his company.”

“I practice like this every day, whether in this campsite or outside the soldiers’ barracks in Ebonvale.” Bron sliced the air, gaining momentum with each swing. His sword danced like quicksilver in the air. “Best if you catch a few hours rest.”

Valorian cast him a skeptical look.

Bron raised an eyebrow. Only a fool would cast off rest before venturing into Darkenbite. A fool with too much pride. “Suit yourself. I’ll be roasting the last of the hare within the hour. We leave when the morning mist clears.”

Valorian strung one last chord and swung his lute over his back, strutting toward his tent as though sleep were his idea. “Wake me when the princess rises.”

Bron stiffened. Now he wasn’t trustworthy enough to spend time alone with her? He lunged, jabbing his claymore into a tree to release his anger. The bark split and flew around his blade, raining on his leather boots.

Valorian waited for a reply as Bron pulled the blade free, calming his raging heart. The warrior did not wish to sacrifice Danika’s honor for his pride. “Of course.”

After completing his ritual training session, Bron started a fire and hung the last scraps of hare over the flames. His stomach grumbled, and he poked at the tender meat with a stick, thinking of how he used to fight over the largest portions of meat with Hule. He wondered how his brother faired at the farm. After the queen had chosen Bron for the Royal Guard, Hule knew he had to stay home and look after their parents. His brother had married, expanded their family’s land and had children, even a boy Nip’s age. Now Hule had too much to lose to yearn for battle and a warrior’s nomadic life.